Happily Ever After
by Ronin-ai
Summary: Seifer wakes up in the middle of the Estharian desert, and must fight to survive, all the while coming to terms with what he'd done and trying to decide if its even worth the struggle...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Survival of the Fittest

It was pain that woke him.

Clawing through his mind. Shredding his heart and soul, gnawing at him from the inside out. It burned through his nerve endings, making him _very_ aware of all of his myriad injuries...both physical _and_ psychic. He took a labored breath, feeling somewhat disappointed that he was in fact, breathing.

 _Failure._

 _"Time will not wait..."_

 _Fool._

 _"I will show you such dreams..."_

 _Useless_

 _"..KILL THEM ALL!"_

 _Betrayer._

 _"...you're being manipulated Seifer.."_

"No..." he whispered weakly, curling into a fetal position on the baking desert plain. Curling around the throbbing core of pain, the emptiness left behind by the death of his Sorceress. Tears leaked from his eyes as he sobbed silently into the ochre dust.

The...sickness...that had infected his mind and heart when he'd foolishly followed his "Romantic Dream" to wrack and ruin was gone, scrubbed clean from his psyche with Ultimecia's death. But the pull to join her in oblivion was nearly too strong for him to resist.

It would be easy. All he had to do was wait and it wouldn't be long before the injuries Squall had inflicted upon him in their last battle claimed his life. He could feel his lifeblood spilling out of him, weakening him with every passing second. Not even his GF could stave off this final outcome, if he chose to let it continue.

He nearly did. He felt cold, despite the blazing heat that baked him, and couldn't seem to get enough air. He felt dizzy and lightheaded and he knew, if he didn't do _something_...cast a healing spell or take a potion...he would lose consciousness and never wake up. His heart labored mightily to pump the increasingly low volume of blood that remained in his body, thumping, stuttering, straining to keep its rhythm...

 _"Master..do not go..."_

 _I'm so tired..._ he thought to the entity that still shared his mind. _Let me sleep and you can go free._

 _"You will not wake. And I do not want to be free of you."_

Unbidden, a memory of Fujin's white, tear-stained and fiercely angry face came to him. She would be disappointed in him. Hell, she already was.

 _So why not just let it go and end my miserable life already? It hurts too much to live..._

 _"You cannot master. I will go too, and I do not want to be parted from you. Here. The potion of healing is here, but you must drink it yourself. Please. Drink."_

With great effort, Seifer opened his eyes to see the small vial that his GF had fetched for him. Without thinking, he reached a trembling hand out and picked it up. Drink, and he would live. Maybe. Or maybe it would simply prolong the inevitable, making his dying even more painful and drawn out than it was already.

But even as he was debating with himself over whether or not he even _wanted_ to live, he'd already uncorked the bottle and downed the contents. Force of habit, ingrained into him through countless pitched battles and close calls. He'd taken the medicine without even consciously thinking about it...otherwise he might have simply tossed it away and waited for the end.

 _Coward._

 _"No, master. It takes more courage to live than to simply give up and die."_

 _Glad YOU think so..._

He sighed as the potion took effect, stopping the bleeding and healing the worst of his injuries. It didn't heal all of them however, and even though he wasn't in immediate danger of dying, he wasn't precisely safe from it, either. He still ran the risk of infection unless he could find a higher level healing spell or potion to heal the rest of his injuries. Add to that the undeniable fact that he was currently lying on the baking hot dirt in the middle of the Estharian desert.

As the immediate danger receded, his mind began to work, assessing the situation and concluding that it was Definitely Not Good. He was actually surprised that he'd been left unmolested thus far, because he had a very clear recollection of Esthar being inundated with a flood of monsters from the Lunar Cry. The sky still held a lurid cast, and he could hear howls, growls, roars and cries in the distance, telling him plainly that even though he was alone for the moment, he wouldn't be for long.

He was too weak to fight. Too weak really, to even stand. But he couldn't stay where he was. He was too exposed to the elements and to the creatures that had flooded the land during the Lunar Cry. If he didn't move, he'd be taken for carrion, and be turned _into_ it in short order. He needed shelter, food, and above all else, he needed water, or he would die sooner than either he or his GF wanted.

"Not dying today..." he mumbled, willing himself to move. He might still, and the jury was out on whether or not this was an outcome he desired. Still, dying at eighteen wasn't necessarily on his to-do list, so he grit his teeth, concentrating fiercely, and moved, slowly, groaning in pain.

He could feel his GF supporting him with as much of it's strength that it had left, and he sent it a rush of weary gratitude, knowing the creature would appreciate the sentiment. A meager enough meal, but better than nothing. Seifer's energy was at such low ebb, all he could manage for the poor thing was that tiny trickle of emotional sustenance.

 _"It does not matter, Master."_ it assured him.

He simply grunted acknowledgement, and concentrated on getting at least to his hands and knees, sweating from the effort, as well as from the heat. He managed it, but only just, swaying and panting, on the verge of collapse. He paused for a long moment, panting for breath. Gods help him, if anything came upon him now, he'd be a goner.

He slowly worked his knees under him and sat back, nearly falling over as his head spun. Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back, hands falling limply to either side of him. The sun beat down mercilessly, causing more sweat to pour down his face and dampen his tattered, bloodstained overcoat and vest. Blindly, he dragged his right hand through the dirt, searching.

Panic stabbed through his chest and stopped his breath until his groping hand encountered sun-warmed metal and wood. He let out a mighty sigh in relief, swaying dizzily as his fingers crawled over the hilt of his gunblade and fitted themselves into the grooves made for them. He gripped it with what strength he had, but was unable to lift it.

Instead, he dragged it to him, wincing inwardly at the sound of metal scraping over dirt and what it was doing to the blade. Once he'd gotten it close enough he was able to lever it upright, digging the point into the ground in front of him and gripping the handle with both hands. He had to pause then, panting, resting his forehead against his hands and closing his eyes, willing away the black spots that danced in front of them. He sent a mental apology to Hyperion for his less than respectful treatment. It wasn't as though he'd had much choice.

"Get up." he whispered to himself. He really didn't think he had the strength, but he knew..."Get up, Goddammit, or die right here!" He would, if he _didn't_ get up, didn't _move_... Gritting his teeth, and using Hyperion for support with another internal wince, he gathered himself and stood, swaying and blinking in the bright sunlight.

Right. So now what? Food. Shelter. _Water_. _That_ , most of all. And before he actually _moved_ , he had to have a direction or he'd just waste what little strength he had left. He cudgeled his less than cooperative brain to recall how one located a source of water in what appeared to be a completely waterless environment. He'd taken survival training; all SeeD trainees did, and desert survival was covered, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to think through the _other_ messages his body was sending his brain.

 _Look for vegetation or dry washes or riverbeds._ A vague memory came to him then, and he scanned the stark landscape around him. Dirt, in an endless variety of dirt-colored hues. Rocks of various sizes. Sparse, dried, and dead grasses and brush. Terrain that was seemingly flat and featureless, though it _did_ appear to have some kind of variation in the distance that suggested low hills.

So, try for the hills then. He tried to take a tally of what gear he had remaining to him, and it turned out to be damn little. No tent, no food, no water of course, though he did have a couple of water spells he could call upon in a pinch. No water bottle though so he couldn't really capture any of it so it would be largely wasted. No more healing potions; his Guardian had given him the last one.

It was Basic Survival 101 again; dropped in the middle of nowhere with just a knife, his weapon and whatever GF he had with him. And his wits, which were sadly lacking, just at the moment. It felt so, at any rate, though objectively he knew that his dangerously poor physical condition had alot to do with that.

Still, he'd never been one to go down without a fight, momentary temptation to the contrary notwithstanding. Setting his jaw in grim determination, he focused on the distant hills and began to walk.

* * *

He stumbled. He fell. He staggered to his feet, dragging Hyperion behind him and sometimes using it as support, but still...he kept moving. That was the _only_ thing in his mind. _Keep moving. Keep walking. Movement is life._ He couldn't think about the monsters that had flooded Esthar and were probably homing in on him. It was enough to just _keep walking_.

 _"I can warn them off, all but the truly strong ones,"_ his Guardian reminded him.

 _Do that then,_ Seifer replied with a slight snort at his oversight.

His chances for survival weren't looking too good, not if he could barely function well enough to remain upright and doggedly place one foot in front of the other. He only had the vaguest of ideas of how to find water and shelter, despite his survival training. He hadn't been through the toughest fight of his life and nearly died of it, hadn't had to deal with the effects of injury and blood loss on top of exhaustion, dehydration and heat while being trained. They'd dropped him off in the middle of nowhere with just the most basic of supplies and his weapon, true, for his survival final, but he'd been in perfect shape then. He laughed mirthlessly at the thought that his training had been barely adequate after all. It was impossible to duplicate the uncontrolled conditions of actual combat in a controlled training environment without doing significant damage to the trainees.

The sun beat down on him mercilessly, and sent sweat trickling down his face, carving rivulets through the grime. He had to cover his head, somehow that seemed important. If for no other reason than to shade his eyes from the sun's blinding glare. So thinking, he shrugged off the ragged overcoat and pulled it up over his head, contriving to tie it with the sleeves so that it wouldn't fall off. It helped a bit, to keep the sun off the back of his neck and scalp, both of which prickled uncomfortably with incipient sunburn, as did his nose and cheeks.

He blinked stinging sweat from his eyes, and frowned down at Hyperion . He really needed to put the gunblade away rather than dulling the blade by dragging it through the dirt, never mind the insult of such treatment to his noble weapon. He sent an abject apology to its spirit, promising to properly care for and honor it if he should survive this ordeal.

If he _didn't_? Well, then it wouldn't matter. Hyperion could rust in peace alongside his bleaching bones.

He kept on, staggering drunkenly, stumbling and falling again. The rock-strewn dirt bruised and abraded his hands and knees as he landed heavily upon them, barely managing to prevent a full-on faceplant. Blinking sweat from his blurring eyes, he simply breathed, waiting for his head to stop spinning.

"Fuck." He whispered weakly. He wasn't sure he had the strength to stand again.

 _Then fucking crawl,_ he thought fiercely. _Don't you dare fucking puss out and die. Don't. You. Dare!_

In the end, it was will that drove him. It was always _will_. Upon regaining that will, he realized exactly what his "Romantic Dream" had cost him. He'd been reduced to a fawning pet, completely in thrall to Ultimecia's power, his will stripped away. It was a relief for him to feel that inner core of strength start roaring back, along with his attitude. Maybe it would save him. Maybe.

So, fuck it then. He started to crawl.

The ground was sun-baked and hot, the dirt powdery and interspersed with sharp-edged rocks. His hands both burned from the heat and from his abrasions, as did his knees. He didn't care, he kept moving forward, each inch costing him in pain. Crawling forever it seemed, crawling like that bitch had made him do. He'd have spat at the bitter taste that rose in the back of his throat, but he was too dehydrated.

 _"Master, stop."_

Siefer paused, blinking his sweat stung and sun-dazzled eyes, and panted, "What, Draken?"

 _"Draw point. Perhaps a healing spell?"_

"Don't be silly. This place is too barren for that kind of energy to build up. Probably something useless like an Aero spell or something." He shook his head. "I don't have the strength to draw much.."

 _"Try anyway. It may help."_

"Okay, fine." Seifer sighed, and closed his eyes, attempting the draw. He was right, he was too weak to draw much, and it was Firaga, and only a small amount at that. Virtually useless to him. Firaga was junctioned to his strength, and the few spells he'd drawn _had_ boosted it a little, but not by much.

"Not much Draken." He sighed.

 _"Even that little boost in strength may make a difference."_

Seifer didn't comment. He simply grunted and pushed onward. After the Gods only knew how long, he began to see changes in the sere surroundings. Dessicated, pale ochre grasses began to spring up in sparse, crispy clumps here and there. The flat surroundings began to show folds and humps, and in the distance, distant patches of thorny bushes, cacti, and of course, more rocks. Small, desert-dwelling lizards skittered off as he passed. A sand-colored gecko froze on a nearby rock, it's mottled coloration making it virtually invisible as it stared at him.

Squinting back at it, Seifer mumbled, "what are _you_ lookin' at?"

The lizard blinked at him, then was gone in a flash.

Seifer snorted, "Yeah, you'd better run. Pussy."

A mental nudge from his GF got him going again. The dizziness was getting worse, harder to ignore. Bad enough that he couldn't even _think_ of attempting to stand. Even creeping along on all fours was becoming more and more difficult. He didn't know how much longer he could keep it up, but keep it up he did. If he collapsed _now_ , it was all over.

 _"Almost there, Master."_

 _Almost where?_ He asked mentally, then found out in the next instant as the ground suddenly disappeared beneath his questing hands, pitching him headfirst into space. Instinct had him reaching out his already bruised and abraded hands while twisting to break his fall and absorb the energy of his body impacting the ground. Had he not done so, he'd have broken his neck. As semi-controlled falls went, it was inelegant and brusing, and he did not emerge from it completely unscathed.

Several words of a definitely adult nature chanted profanely through his mind as he lay stunned on the ground, trying to catch his breath and gather his wits.

First thing he noticed was that he'd landed on sand, which was considerably softer and less injurious than rocks. The second thing was that he'd fallen into a wash or gully of some sort. After taking an internal assessment, he decided nothing was critically injured...or at least nothing _else_ was critically injured. Several of his more serious and only partially healed wounds however, had been reopened and were bleeding again. The third thing he noticed was the bank he'd fallen down had been eroded at some point by flood, forming a small, undercut cave. It was barely big enough to fit him, but it _was_ shelter.

So. He had shelter of a sort. It would serve in a pinch anyway.. Now he needed water.

He sat up slowly, grunting and grimacing at the sensations that resulted. A sibilant hiss from the dark recesses of the cave sent a chill up his spine. He froze and watched in repulsed fascination as the hissing grew louder and was accompanied by the furtive slithering of something very large.

* * *

"Fuck." He whispered.

It was an anacondaur. A small one...for an anacondaur.. but large enough to make a meal of him. He didn't bother with wondering why a fucking anacondaur was in the middle of the Estharian Desert instead of the Dollet hills where they were normally found. The Lunar Cry had dropped a whole shitload of the worst monsters in existence, anacondaurs included, right down onto the heads of the hapless residents of Esthar. _None_ of the normal rules of behavior for these imports would apply, as they were newly arrived and... _hungry_.

He didn't know if it saw him or not, or if his GF was able to do whatever it did to deter the wandering nightmares from attacking him in broad daylight. He _did_ know that if he moved, he was dead, GF or no. He was less than three meters from the thing, and while small, it was still a good _five_ meters in length. He was well within striking distance. One bite, and he'd be dead in minutes. Slow, agonizing minutes, as the anacondaur's hemolytic venom did its work.

The snakelike creature undulated fluidly from beneath the overhang, and Seifer saw that it was actually deeper than he'd thought at first. The reptile's mottled patterns of browns, golds and tans had camouflaged it so well that Seifer had taken it for part of the earthen wall that it had hidden against. Despite the heat, cold sweat trickled down his sides as he watched the creature's movements as closely as he could without moving himself.

 _Draken?_ He sent to the GF, hoping the cold lump of fear in his guts was enough to clue the guardian in on the rest.

 _"I am watching. It senses you."_

 _I know it fucking senses me. I'm RIGHT IN FRONT OF IT. If it can't smell me, it can sense my heat_. Like any pit viper, the anacondaur had heat-sensing organs in the pits near its nostrils. There were limits to what his GF could do in terms of shielding him from predators. Proximity was one of those limits.

"Drake?" Seifer said softly, swallowing as the reptile slithered into a coil and raised its head, tongue flickering. Had it heard him? He couldn't remember if they were more like lizards or snakes. Were they deaf or not?

He shifted slightly, trying to keep the monster in sight as it shifted out of his field of vision. It immediately zeroed in on him, spreading its hood and hissing sibilantly, tongue flickering madly. Seifer froze, heart pounding.

 _Shit.._

 _"I am coming."_

 _Good. Because I don't think this thing is just gonna go on its merry way and leave me alone._

Seifer felt Draken's wry acknowledgment along with the surge of power that hearalded the firedrake's summon. Another fire elemental, Seifer had junctioned with Draken for at least as long as Squall had had Shiva. Few people saw it however; like Squall, Seifer had already had the Guardian with him when he'd first arrived at Garden. It was his own, and while registered under his profile, was never made available to anyone else. Much like Fujin and her wind elemental, Pandemona.

Reality suddenly blurred as the Guardian opened the dimensional portal and exploded into the sky above him, folded its wings and dove like a falcon on the attack. It was truly an impressive sight, and Seifer wished he dared look up to see it. Draken was one of the more beautiful of the Guardians, its appearance a cross between a wyvern and a phoenix. Scarlet scales and golden feathers wreathed in flame, snapped to a hover above him while a precisely targeted stream of flaming plasma immolated the anacondaur in an eyeblink.

Or _nearly_ did...for some unknown reason, Draken reabsorbed the flames, leaving the anacondaur charred and very definitely dead, but not burnt to ash. Instead, it appeared to be...cooked.

Siefer looked up at the GF as it landed briefly in the sandy draw and extended a clawed talon to prod the dead creature. It then flipped its wings onto its back and cocked its dragonlike head in an almost avian gesture that meant that it was pleased with itself.

"I'm pretty sure it's dead, Drake." Seifer said wryly.

 _"Yes. It is now meat for you."_

"Wait. You expect me to _eat_ that?" Seifer asked, eyeing the decidedly unappetizing thing with a jaundiced eye. Not only did it _not_ look like something he'd want to eat, ever, it didn't even _smell_ remotely edible. Instead, he smelled nothing but the acrid stench of burnt flesh.

 _"Yes, you need strength. Meat will give you strength."_ Draken answered, shaking its head and fluffing out its golden crest feathers before smothing them back against its reptilian neck.

"I need water more, Drake." Seifer replied.

The guardian considered that, blinking. Then it walked a few paces into the draw, until it reached the deepest part of the river of sand. Once there, it dug a hole, scooping the sand out until it had a good sized basin. Then it launched itself back into the air, hovering over the hole it had dug, gathering power.

"Drake, what are you doing?" Seifer asked, puzzled.

The firedrake didn't answer, instead it fired an incredibly powerful, concentrated burst of plasma heat into the basin it had dug, melting the sand into glass. Seeing that it had achieved the desired result, Draken then retreated to its home dimension.

 _"You may now cast the water spell, and it will not be wasted. The basin will keep it for you."_ The GF replied.

"Oh. Thank you." Seifer said. Despite having partnered with Draken a good portion of his life, he was still surprised on occasion by its initiative. From what he'd gathered in talking with other cadets and reading up on all of the known GF's and their behaviors, this was actually pretty rare. Most guardians simply appeared when summoned, did whatever attack they were ordered to do, and retreated back to their plane of existence.

Some of the more intelligent of them would speak to their masters, but even those GF's would only take action when summoned and ordered to do so. Seifer hadn't actually even summoned Drake...not formally, at any rate. He'd simply told the guardian that he needed help, and the creature had shown up and rendered such aid as as it felt Seifer needed. Independent, or semi-independent, action from a GF was very rare indeed.

Then again, Draken was...unique...among the guardians...at least so far as Seifer was able to tell. Everything he'd read or learned about them at Garden told him that the GF's were simply tools. And like tools, they did what they were designed to do without question. Or commentary, or occasional sarcastic backtalk. It was obvious that through long association with Seifer, _this_ particular GF had absorbed certain aspects of his personality.

Its appearance was strangely beautiful as well. It blended both bird and dragon in its shape, with two taloned, raptor-lke legs, golden feathered wings, scarlet scales covering all, including a sinuous, snakey neck, and a head reminiscent of a small ruby dragon with golden crest feathers instead of horns. It's tail too, combined both bird and reptile, with feathers that could spread wide while flying and lie flat when it was landbound.

All in all, Draken was as good a companion and guardian as Seifer could get, and it was no less powerful than any he'd seen the other SeeDs deploy..with the exception of Squall. How that little bastard had managed to snag an actual fucking dragon as his guardian, Seifer would never understand. Something that powerful would only bow to someone who could defeat it in battle and _Squall_... Well, it was obvious that he'd seriously underestimated his erstwhile fellow cadet.

Seifer waited until the heat that he could feel radiating from the basin, had cooled to the point that he felt confident it wouldn't crack or the water boil off when he cast the water spell. Closing his eyes, he gathered what strength and energy that remained to him, and cast the spell. Hissing and a small amount of steam resulted, which quickly abated. The water would likely be too hot to drink right away, but not to hot to clean up his injuries.

Dragging himself to the edge took all that he had left, and he collapsed, head spinning, and spots dancing before his eyes. He lay still for a moment, waiting for the world to stop moving so fast, every inch of his body aching. Heat baked him from below as the sand had absorbed the sun's energy, and above as it continued to hammer him. He'd never experienced such heat before; he felt as though he was lying in an oven, being consumed by flame. The fire cavern pre-test had been a cakewalk compared to this.

He closed his eyes, and drifted...feeling his hold on consciousness slipping and unable to stir himself to care overmuch about it. A prodding in the back of his mind kept irritating him though, distracting him from drifting fully into dark oblivion.

 _"Master. MASTER. Wake! Do not sleep yet!"_

 _Tired..._

 _"Do not sleep!"_

Draken's insistence woke him from his torpor, and he cracked his eyes open again, muzzily considering the basin full of water that was now in front of him. He slowly reached a hand out to touch it. Hot of course, but it had cooled enough to be tolerable. Temperature didn't matter so much when it was the liquid he was after, though it would have been nicer if it had been cold.

He struggled upright, managing to waver to his knees, and shrugged off the stained, tattered overcoat that he'd been using to keep off the sun. Filthy, abraded hands stung as he dipped them into the water, and he took a moment to wash them a bit, before scooping up some of the water and splashing it onto his face and over his hair. Despite it being warm, or perhaps because of it, he found this quite refreshing. Scooping more water up in his cupped hands, he finally drank some. By this point it was roughly the same temperature as his body, and as a result was easier to drink than he'd thought it would be.

He drank deeply, then removed his vest and did his best to cleanse his crusted injuries, wincing. Despite his pain, the warm water was soothing and it evaporated quickly, cooling him far more than he thought it would. He felt better too; steadier, if not quite as strong as he normally was.

 _Meat is strength._ Draken had insisted. Seifer studied the charred anacondaur, wrinkling his nose. Well, he'd eaten worse. Sighing, he pulled his utility knife out of the sheath in his boot. At least he still had _that_. Grimly, he advanced upon the anacondaur's carcass.

* * *

Charred anacondaur wasn't actually as terrible as it had sounded...and _smelled_. In fact, once the charred bits were cut away, the meat itself was actually edible, if rather tasteless. And Draken was right, food _did_ help, though what Seifer needed most was not easily obtainable.

 _A few dozen vials of healing potion, or a Curaga spell or two...that's what I really need now._ He thought. That, and maybe a canteen or some means of carrying water with him. He only had maybe one or two water spells left, and aside from the catch basin that Drake had made for him, no real way of retaining it.

He caught sight of Hyperion lying next to him in the dirt, and sighed. No honing stone or oil, but he could at least clean it up. Trouble was, he had no idea what to use to do that. After casting about for a bit, and finding nothing, he finally decided to use his vest. It was a tattered mess anyway, filthy and stained with blood, so adding _more_ dirt to it wouldn't matter.

So thinking, he wet the thing and wrung it out, _away_ from the basin of water, so as not to foul it any more than necessary. Then he grabbed his gunblade and pulled it over and across his knees, using the dampened cloth to clean it as thoroughly as he could. The edge needed honing badly; the abuse it had suffered lately had certainly not helped matters. He did what he could for it, then put it back into its holster.

And then he was done. He had gone well beyond his strength, and the meager resources he had to hand were not enough to restore him. Not as quickly as he was used to, at any rate. He could do nothing more at this point but to rest and hope that it would help. Sleep called to him, and Seifer could no longer deny what his body desperately needed.

Crawling to the overhang, he shook out his overcoat and lay it down on the sand-covered floor. The ground, even in the shade, was almost uncomfortably warm, but he was at least out of direct sunlight, and the sun would be setting soon.

As soon as Seifer lay down upon his overcoat and closed his eyes, exhaustion finally dragged him down into oblivion.

* * *

Author's Note: And now for something Completely Different. Taking a slight departure from my normal Squinoa stories, I've decided to write Seifer's story for The Successor Challenge, a writing prompt proposed by Emerald_Latias exploring what happens AFTER the events of the game. I'd already explored in detail what happened (In MY headcanon) to Squall and Rinoa after the game, but didn't really consider what SEIFER might have had to contend with.

In the end credits of the game we get a shot of Seifer fishing somewhere (possibly Balamb) with Fujin and Raijin, but we really don't know how he got there, or even if it IS Balamb. Where is he then? How did he get there? How did he survive? This is what I'm interested in figuring out, and so this is what I'm going to explore in this fic. Hope you all enjoy it.


	2. Chapter 2 keeping the monsters at bay

The blessed insensibility that sleep brought was short-lived; nightmarish images started whirling about in a confusing kaleidoscope as his mind, freed of his conscious control, attempted to make sense of the last few hours. Or maybe days. The Gods only knew. He remembered very little; he'd been unconscious for much of it. All he recalled, vaguely, were unsettled, chaotic visions of the very fabric of reality suddenly becoming as fluid and viscous as taffy.

A flash of ice-blue eyes and a sky-blue gunblade, the owner of that blade giving him a final warning in the crystal halls of the Lunatic Pandora. Those same eyes later, blazing with more fear, rage and pain than he'd ever seen in them before as he...

 _"The sorceresses as one! Watch closely Squall!"_

Gods. He _threw_ Rinoa at that monster Adel. Sacrificed her, handed her over to that... _thing_... to be devoured... absorbed. Reduced to a lifeless husk so that the sorceress could rejuvenate herself at the expense of Rinoa's life-force. His stomach twisted in sudden nausea at the memory. He had no idea what happened next. Everything had gone rather spectacularly to Hell immediately after that.

The frightened, uncomprehending look Rinoa had given him as he'd thrust her into that creature's arms would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Rinoa was a sorceress. His fault too, that she bore that taint. He had felt Ultimeicia's rage at Edea's defeat; it had burned through his mind, along with her contempt at his failure to adequately defend the body she inhabited. Lying only half-conscious, he'd felt her sudden satisfaction at finding a new host, one that could carry her to the only other sorceress that existed in their timeline.

He remembered fighting Squall. He remembered the cold, set look on the SeeD's face as they battled, and wasn't entirely sure that he had won that battle. The damage he'd taken argued that if he _had_ , it was a costly victory.

He _did_ recall Fujin and Raijin both trying to talk sense to him before finally giving up and abandoning him, just before Squall had grimly set to work on trying to kill him. It had all gone too far by that point and he didn't see how he could stop anything. Viewed in that light, he couldn't actually blame his friends for leaving him to his fate rather than go down with him. It had cut him deeply however, leaving him feeling far more desolate than he'd expected. But it was too late for him to stop what he'd foolishly set in motion. He had to simply keep going forward, keep fighting to see what resulted. If nothing else, he would at least die fighting, rather than giving up.

That's what he'd _hoped_ , anyway.

He was almost disappointed that Squall had turned and attacked Adel instead of him. Oh, he knew _why_ ; despite the rage and pain he could plainly see in Squall's eyes, he was too much of a SeeD, even as a newbie, _not_ to engage the threat immediately in front of him. Seifer had been defeated and therefore was no longer of much concern, but Rinoa was in danger and Sorceress Adel _had_ to be dealt with.

It didn't matter that _he_ was the reason that Rinoa had been in danger. Or rather, it _did_ matter, but Squall had other, more pressing priorities. A little thing like vengeance was something he had no time for. Not right then, at any rate.

He hadn't seen much of that battle. His injuries had caught up to him and he'd lost consciousness midway through. He had no idea if Squall had managed to save Rinoa or not. Hell, as far as he knew, everyone was dead.

Cheery thought, that.

He supposed if Squall _was_ dead, he at least managed to complete his mission and destroy Ultimecia. Gods only knew _how_. But the bitch was undeniably dead, he had _felt_ her die. He had to give the guy props for getting the job done and earning a hero's death.

Unlike _him_.

It was calling to him again, that black abyss of despair that was always lurking, waiting to swallow him up. He'd managed to hold it off while he worked on _not_ dying, but his conscious mind was asleep. Movement, activity, anything that focused his mind on the here and now, helped to stave it off...But it was always there, waiting for him. He didn't want to look. Didn't want to see what roiled in that maelstrom, lest it suck him under and drown him. There lay madness, something Seifer very much wanted to avoid.

 _You think you have a choice, slave? Her_ voice, dropping venom into his mind.

She was dead. He _knew_ she was dead, he'd _felt_ her die. Had felt her rage at his impotence, his failure to protect her and destroy her enemies. Had felt her clawed fingers ripping him up from the inside as she tried to take him with her. Body and soul, he'd been hers, and she didn't want to leave without him.

Her voice still echoed in his head. The emptiness in his mind, his heart...his very _soul_ ...that she'd left behind, yawned like an open wound. The only thing he could do was simply _not_ look at it. It was far too raw still for him to examine closely.

 _"I am here."_

Draken's solid presence, anchoring him. _That_ was why he hadn't joined his mistress in her final journey. Draken had not let him. Ultimecia had not counted on having to share Seifer's mind with his guardian, and that had likely saved his life.

For whatever _that_ was worth.

It did not make for a restful sleep, when rest was what his body needed most.

He moaned softly and curled onto his side, silent tears leaking from his eyes, as he mourned. Edea, Rinoa, Fujin, and yes dammit, even Ultimecia. What he felt was far to complicated to categorize; he'd loved her, hated her, worshipped her and lusted after her, and _damn_ her, she'd fed off of it. She'd _used_ his childhood infatuation with Matron to entice him to follow her, to be her knight. She'd used Edea's body to seduce him into bedding the only mother he remembered, further binding him to her. She'd twisted his rivalry with Squall to truly disastrous heights, and had used Rinoa as a helpless pawn to further her quest to achieve Time Compression.

His tortured mind might have interrupted his rest, save his exhausted body was sunk too deeply into sleep inertia for him to do much more than frown and moan, shifting in an effort to escape his nightmares. But caught as tightly as he was in the web of sleep, he could only mire himself further.

Deeply enough that even his dreams faded away. Perhaps, if he managed to sink deep enough, he would not wake...

* * *

It was discomfort of a different sort that woke Seifer this time, and he cracked his eyes open and gazed balefully out at the brightly blazing, already hot sunlight.

"Fuck." He muttered.

 _"You say that alot."_

"Shut up." he grumbled. Drake must be in what passed for a good mood; the GF tended to get sassy when it was feeling good.

 _"Rude."_

"Bite me."

 _"That can be arranged."_

Seifer snorted at Drake's retort, appreciating its quick wit. He also appreciated its subtle approach in distracting him from the darkness that hovered just at the edge of his perception. Just waiting to sweep in and swallow him at its first opportunity.

Then he made the mistake of moving.

"Holy Hyne on a fucking crutch! Bloody fucking Hell! Oh, Gods," Seifer gasped, as his body reminded him that he'd been pretty seriously pummeled the day before. He took a deep breath and grit his teeth, getting up carefully as his injuries screamed at him. Draken was paying close attention, with both shock and admiration, to the profanity that Seifer was chanting under his breath as he crawled out of his cave shelter and stood up.

He stretched, carefully, in a effort to work out the kinks that had accumulated overnight. Then he walked a short way down the wash until he found a suitable spot.

 _"You are feeling better?"_ Draken asked doubtfully.

"Well, I ain't dead yet." Seifer grunted, working at his fly.

 _"The night unsettled you."_

"No, my... _nightmares_...unsettled me. The _night_ was fine." he replied shortly, then fell silent as he dealt with the most pressing source of his discomfort.

 _"If it makes you feel better, the emotions they roused in you fed me very well, though the flavor was somewhat bitter."_

"Do you feel better?" Seifer asked, finishing up and rearranging his clothing.

 _"The rest and the emotional energy you provided has restored much of my strength. So, yes." Draken answered, then observed, "this is not the case with you however. You are improved but still weak."_

"No shit, genuis."

 _"No, it was not shit. It was piss. Shit usually comes after. And yes, of course I am a genius. I share your mind with you, do I not?"_

Seifer shook his head, snorting quietly. Yeah, Draken was definitely feeling snarky.

He made his way over to the basin, wondering if there was any water left and if it was still safe to drink. There was, though a little debris and sediment had accumulated during the night. Still, it was good enough for him to drink, so he did.

After drinking his fill, he scooped up some more water and splashed his face and hair with it. Then he sat back on his heels and considered his situation. No food, unless one counted the remains of the anacondaur, and he didn't. Very little water, and no way to carry it with him...and no real idea of where he was. But a night's sleep, however unsettled it may have been, _had_ improved a few things, which had cleared his mind considerably. He was at least able to think, though he had to consciously shove aside the lingering effects of his nightmares. He was only partially successful, however.

That abyss, that echoing emptiness, was still there pulling at him. So was despair.

 _"Master. We cannot linger here."_ Draken reminded him gently.

"I know, Drake."

He could sense the guardian waiting for him to decide on their course of action. In this, Draken could not help. But it was right; they could not remain where they were. He had to move... somewhere. If nothing else he had to find or contrive more secure shelter and a better, more reliable source of food and water. And then what? Stay in the desert until he died?

One thing was certain. He couldn't simply hole up and wait for rescue. It was unlikely anybody would be looking for him. And if someone _was_ , guaranteed he would _not_ want to be found by them.

So what were his options? Not Esthar City, certainly. He had been very visible there as being connected to the Lunatic Pandora and the reawakening of Adel. Not Deling City either, and for essentially the same reason, only there it had been Sorceress Edea, and the havoc she'd wrought (he knew now it was while under Ultimecia's control), with him acting as her henchman. Or lapdog, as Squall had observed. Those keen blue eyes had seen _far_ too much.

Timber? No. While he might be welcomed there for the assistance he'd rendered to the Forest Owls, it was still, so far as he knew, under Galbadian control.

Fisherman's Horizon? It had possibilities. His presence there had not been as public, and Mayor Dobe had a reputation of being a "live and let live" sort, so long as his philosophy of non-violence was respected.

Seifer thought he could do that. It was worth a try anyway. If nothing else, it would be a good place to lay low until he could figure out what to do with himself.

Pulling his survival knife out again, he rooted around in his pockets until he found what he was looking for: a printed out topographical map. Ridiculous, really, when he could have gotten a holomap in Esthar, but those were expensive and far less durable than plain old paper and ink.

Unfolding it, he spread it out on the ground and took note of the coordinates for FH. Then he used the compass in the hilt of his knife to take a reading on his current location to plot out his route. Folding the paper up and putting it away, he sat still for a moment, thinking.

 _"It is a long way."_

"Yes."

Both he and his GF knew their chances of actually making it to FH were slim. But it was better than the odds he faced now.

At least if he died, it wouldn't be because he'd given up and waited for it to happen.

* * *

Once decided upon a course of action and a direction, Seifer was left at a loss as to how to accomplish it. The only mode of travel he had were his feet, and while there _might_ be a chocobo forest somewhere about, he had no idea where. There was no guarantee that he could actually capture a chocobo even if he could _find_ the aforementioned forest, which he rather doubted he could manage before his meager resources ran out.

In short, finding and capturing a chocobo was not a terribly practical, or even feasable, plan.

"Drake?" Seifer addressed the GF aloud. It was an unusual luxury for him to be able to do so. Obviously, he couldn't have done so in the past. Nothing spelled "crazy" like walking along arguing with the empty air.

 _"Yes, master?"_

"I'm going to need you to keep a special lookout for any useful draw points. Specifically I want you to tell me if you run across any healing energy. Elemental energy is good too, particularly water or ice spells." Seifer instructed.

 _"The many monsters here may be of some use as well, once you've regained enough strength to fight them. They are newly come from the moon, therefore will have many different energies which could translate into useful magics."_

"Yeah, well I'm a long way from being able to fight even a geezard right now." Seifer replied ruefully.

 _"You know I will help you. And you cannot say that I take too long to respond, when all the instructors at Garden agree that you and I have the fastest summon."_

Viewed in that light, what Seifer was considering began to approach the realm of possibility...barely.

Reaching for his gunblade, he tried to draw it, snarling in frustration as his arm trembled from the strain while the heavy weapon barely shifted in its scabbard. No. Not even close.

"Fuck." he growled. An echo from his midsection reminded him that he wouldn't regain his strength if he didn't eat.

He glanced at the anacondaur's remains again and grimaced in disgust. No, not that. Freshly killed, it had been tolerable, but he rather doubted it had improved with age. There was damn little vegetation about, and none that was edible. That didn't mean there _wasn't_ anything edible, just very little in his immediate vicinity.

He decided that focusing on obtaining food and a means of carrying water with him should be his first priority. He eyed the carcass again, this time in speculation. An idea began to form, and he stood. Pulling out his knife, he approached the monster's remains. Grimly, he set to work.

What he hoped, was that either the bladder or the stomach would be useable as a means to carry water. Of course, it would take preparation, and Seifer wasn't at all sure of how well it would work but...He really didn't have too many other options.

He was aware of Drake's interest in the proceedings. Indeed, the GF seemed to find Seifer's activities in general highly entertaining. Hyne only knew why.

 _"Because the other GF's are boring. Most of 'em aren't even smart enough to talk to."_

"GF's talk to each other?" Seifer asked, diverted by the idea.

 _"Sometimes. None are close enough now to speak with though."_ Drake answered.

'Which GF's have you spoken to?"

 _"Shiva, and Ifrit. And Diablos. Some others too, but I don't remember what they were called. Lower level, basic guardians, they were."_

"Shiva? And Ifrit too? They're actually smart enough to speak?" Seifer asked, wondering why Drake would speak with those two in particular.

 _"Indeed, they are. Shiva especially."_

 _Huh. I wonder why_...Seifer thought.

Drake of course, hearing the thought, answered it, _"We can sometimes be a reflection of the mind that we inhabit, if it is strong enough. Shiva is both a reflection of and to some extent, an influence upon the mind of your brother."_

"He's not my brother." Seifer interruped, flatly. He examined what he'd pulled from the carcass so far, hoping he was remembering the process to convert a bladder or stomach into a water-carrier, correctly. And trying hard not to think about having to drink water from it.

 _"Your memories say otherwise."_ Drake replied.

"Well, I hope you enjoyed them." Seifer said.

 _"They provided many complex emotional overtones. Quite satisfying, actually."_

"Good. I could do without those memories. Any more you'd care to devour while you're in there?" Seifer asked. Maybe Drake would like to feast upon his most recent recollections..

 _"I do not EAT your memories, merely supplant them. It is the emotions that they dredge up that sustain me. And you cannot lie to one who knows your heart as well as you do. You were raised with him as his brother, and this tie still remains even though you deny it."_ Draken said.

Seifer frowned. One of the more frustrating things about having a GF as intelligent as Draken was the fact that the damn thing would NOT let him lie to himself.

"You know he'll try to kill me, if we meet again." Seifer said. There was neither fear nor disappointment in that statement, but certainty.

 _"I know. And you will do the same. It is not so strange to think of, when you consider that you have been pitted against each other for most of your lives. Have you ever wondered why?"_ Drake asked him.

Seifer paused, struck. It was so obvious, that he'd missed it entirely. No, he'd never wondered, and if that same question had been asked months ago he'd have dismissed it out of hand. But _now_... Insights gained from his link to Edea/Ultimecia as knight had provided him with an entirely different perspective.

They'd been called The Fated Children. _He_ had been included in that number, and he'd thought his role would be the same as the others. It was not. Edea had known, from the moment that she'd taken on Ultimecia's power that day in the orphanage garden, what _his_ role would be, just as she'd known Squall's.

It was at _her_ direction that Cid had created SeeD, started the Garden academies, and began training children to kill...his wife.

Edea had seen what was to come, because Ultimecia's memories had revealed it to her while she was dying. The battle had already happened and been concluded in a time and a place far removed from the orphanage's garden. Armed with the knowledge that Ultimecia had conferred upon her along with her power, Edea set them all upon the pathways that they'd needed to take.

Seifer wondered if Edea had seen what everyone's ultimate fate would be. If she'd seen what would happen if Squall and everyone had failed, or taken different paths or had died before that final battle had been joined. How much of their future was predestined, and how much was chance? How much choice in their destinies did any of them actually have?

It was enough to give a guy a headache if he dwelled upon it too deeply.

Seifer studied the preparations he'd made, and hoped it would work. He'd had to foul the water in the basin even more, but...His stomach growled again, more loudly than before.

"I need to find something to eat," He muttered.

 _"Well, if you want meat, there is plenty to be found,"_ Drake replied. _"You need only to reveal yourself. Sooner or later, something will try to kill you."_

 _Story of my life,_ Seifer thought. Draken snorted at that response.

"Well, I need other stuff too," Seifer replied, thinking about certain edible plants and roots that he hoped to find, along with wood for fire.

 _"Then let us hunt."_ Draken replied.

* * *

As Drake had predicted, _hunting_ mostly consisted of Seifer looking like bait, while the GF roasted whatever attacked. Hard as that was on Seifer, even though he did very little _actual_ fighting, the creatures that they ended up killing did provide some useful items beyond simply meat.

Though that was certainly important as well.

By the time they were done, they'd managed to get together enough raw materials that with some judicious refining, they'd have a chace of getting to their destination. A _slim_ chance, but still, a chance. One day of rest and preparation, was all that Seifer was going to allow himself. He'd have to be ready to leave by morning.

As Seifer lay down, intending to rest, he had to consciously turn away from that black void that lay waiting for him in the back of his mind. Somehow he knew, if he allowed it to suck him in, he'd never get out again. He would die there. It didn't much matter that it wouldn't _physically_ kill him. Not right off. No, his heart, his mind, his _soul_...that would die first. His body would follow.

Perhaps he was already dead and just too stupid to realize it...

 _"You are not."_ Drake declared firmly. _"And I will not allow you to go into that place."_

"How can you stop me?" Seifer challenged, despair beginning to creep in.

 _"I will stop you."_ Drake said simply.

By some miracle, the darkness that crept in and stole his consciousness was sleep. Of course, the nightmares returned, and he slept restlessly. But he _did_ sleep.

When he woke the next morning at first light, he felt better than the day before. Nowhere near what he'd been, and he still couldn't lift his goddam gunblade...but he figured he'd be able to walk. Perhaps he'd even make it to FH, if the Gods smiled on him. And if not...well, he supposed it really wouldn't matter.

If he was fated to die, then he figured he'd best go and meet his death instead of sitting around waiting for it to find him.

It was with that mindset that he gathered everything together that he'd managed to refine, cobble up or otherwise accumulate in an effort to make his trek a _little_ less suicidal.

He figured he'd get as far as he could before the day got really hot...then he'd have to hunker down out of the sun somewhere to wait out the worst of it. The preparations he'd made the day before played a large part in that.

He had no idea how far he'd actually get... But he'd keep going until he couldn't. At least then he'd be able to say that he'd never given up.

For whatever that was worth.

Hyperion rode at his hip in its accustomed place, it's momentary stint as a walking stick ended in favor of an _actual_ stick that he'd managed to find in his foraging the previous day. It helped, far better than his gunblade had, and he was grateful for the support.

Taking a deep breath, he took another compass reading and turned toward FH. Then he started to walk.

* * *

Author's Note: No, I'm not going to detail a torturous slog across the burning hot desert. That's boring. Or, maybe not BORING exactly but not the direction I'm planning to take with this. REALLY. In another note, I may end up withdrawing this story from the Successor Challenge if I don't foresee concluding it before the end of this month. I will NOT abandon it, regardless of whether or not it stays in the challenge. So, don't worry that it'll never be finished.

UPDATE: Sadly, due to circumstances largely outside my control, I was not able to complete this story in the time allowed, so I've had it withdrawn from the Successor Challenge. That does NOT mean that I won't finish it, it'll just go with the rest of my works. Good thing about this is that I can take my time and actually write the story that I WANT to write, rather than try to hurry up and finish by a particular deadline. So...I will continue to work on this and let you all know when the next update's going to happen.


	3. Chapter 3 Public enemy number 1

"Is this the latest group?" Mayor Dobe asked the dockworker as he studied the ragtag, exhausted group of people that were currently huddled against the wall of the harbormaster's office.

The man nodded, "They just got here this morning."

The dockworker couldn't really be called a "security specialist" because FH really didn't have any such personnel. There were constables that served as law enforcement for the remote community, but dealing with this sudden influx of refugees from Esthar was not part of their job description. For the most part, it was the citizens of FH themselves that did their best to manage and help those people that had begun straggling into their midst.

What had happened was just what Mayor Dobe had feared would happen. War. And the result was the ragged, haunted human detritus that had been left behind by it. He'd had more than a little taste of it, just recently, and never wanted another one, and so could identify a little with what these people had gone through. Little as he'd like to admit it, his experience could have been so much worse, had those warmongering SeeDs not been there.

Of course, in his opinion, their presence had _attracted_ the conflict with Galbadia's military that had occurred there. If they had not been there, the G-Army would likely have performed their search without incident and moved on once they discovered that the person they were searching for was not there.

He realized that his outlook would very likely be derided as naive, wishful thinking. And the way those soldiers had treated him, even though he'd displayed no aggression at all, was distressingly close to what that young mercenary leader had _said_ would happen.

But this latest invasion was less one of aggression and more of desperation. _Something_ horrific had happened in Esthar, the details of which were still being pieced together, and these people were fleeing it.

Well, _he_ , Mayor Dobe, leader of the community of FH, had no problems with helping those who needed it; that was one of the founding principals of Fisherman's Horizon, after all. That and self-reliance and a willingness to work and make do with what was available. Peacefully, of course. If these people could adhere to those principals, he had no problems with welcoming them into his community.

"How many need medical attention?" Dobe asked the dockworker.

"Pretty much all of 'em, but that guy over there is the worst off." the man answered, pointing toward a crumpled figure in what looked like a dusty, tattered overcoat of unknown coloration and black pants, similarly tattered.

"Have you called Sheila yet?" Dobe asked as he picked his way through the throng to the man's side and knelt down next to him.

"Yeah. She's coming." the man answered. Then he frowned, "might be too late for this poor bugger though."

"Well, let's see." Dobe said, studying the refugee closely.

It did not look good, that was for certain. In fact, until Dobe placed his fingers underneath the man's jaw and felt his pulse- weak, but there- he nearly agreed with the dockworker. It was impossible to tell the man's age; he could be anywhere from eighteen to thirty. He was emaciated, dirty and bearded. And blazing hot from fever.

Frowning, Dobe gently rolled him onto his back, consequently getting a better look at the man's face. He froze, breath clogging in his throat as he saw the diagonal slash of a recently healed scar across the man's face. Heart pounding, he looked for and found what he knew would be there: a gunblade.

 _It CAN'T be_... He studied the man's features again, seeing nothing familiar in them. He bore no resemblance to the young SeeD who had been there just weeks before, aside from the scar and the weapon. For one thing, this man was blond, while the other one... _what was his name? He_ had darker hair and a slighter build. Another SeeD then? One that had been caught up in all the madness that had broken loose in Esthar?

Little as he liked to deal with the SeeDs, they at least were pretty good about honoring an agreement once it was made. In that light, perhaps their young commander would like to know of the whereabouts of this stray SeeD, and come pick him up. Better to return this wolf to its pack and let them take care of him, than try to do it himself and possibly be bitten for the trouble.

Perhaps his wife would remember the name of the young SeeD that had been there before.

"Mayor? What have we got here?" a woman's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Not sure Sheila. At first glance I'd say starvation and heat-sickness. He's blazing hot." Dobe answered, moving aside to allow the woman access to the patient.

She checked him over quickly and efficiently, immediately calling for towels soaked in cold water, removing the man's overcoat to lay the towels onto his bare skin...and gasping at the injuries that she saw there. Some were healed, some were not...and had obviously become infected.

"It's not heat sickness," She said grimly, draping the wet towels over his body. "Or not _just_ that, at any rate. I need to get him to the clinic immediately." Looking around, she called out, "Joe! Need a stretcher crew over here!"

Things happened very quickly after that, and the injured man was bundled off with impressive haste, with the woman following after and issuing rapid instructions.

"Doctor!" Dobe called out after her. "What about the rest of these people here?"

The doctor looked back and answered, "simple exhaustion, dehydration and starvation. Get 'em out of the sun to someplace cool, give 'em some water and food. It'll sort itself out after that."

"Thank you doctor." The mayor nodded.

* * *

 _"Master? Will you wake now? I've been calling but you...you cannot hear me. Please wake?"_

Sadness and distress. Whose voice was speaking in his mind? Not _hers_ , this one was different. Familiar. It was pleading with him to open his eyes. But he didn't want to. It was..peaceful, here in the dark.

 _"Peaceful? Have you passed beyond nightmares then?"_ The distress emanating from the disembodied voice sharpened to alarm.

 _Who are you?_ he wondered.

 _"You do not know me? I have been part of you for a very long time."_

 _How long? Are you my conscience?_

The voice snorted in amusement, _"Hardly. I COULD be considered your smarter half, but that would be boasting."_

The voice's tone faded to wistfulness _. "Will you wake now? You have been asleep a long time. I worried you would not wake and...I would be left alone."_

 _I was asleep?_

 _"Yes. You were very tired, sick and in pain. You had reached the end of your endurance and not even my support could help you."_

 _Where am I?_

 _"I do not know. There were others that you helped, and they helped you in turn when you collapsed. But I do not know where we are. I can only see through your eyes, and they have been closed. Will you open them now? Then we can both learn of where we are."_

He gradually became aware of other things besides the entity that was speaking to his mind _...Draken. My...my GF. That's right. So...I'm a SeeD?_ No, that didn't seem right. He frowned slightly, willing the mental fog away.

He sighed, and shifted, realizing as he did that he lay in a bed. Also, nothing hurt. He stretched experimentally, grunting softly.

"Waking up finally?" a woman's voice asked. "It's about time."

Seifer decided then to try opening his eyes. Took a minute for them to focus, probably because pretty much everything was white. Glaringly so. He blinked a few times while his vision gradually cleared, and studied the woman sitting next to his bed. Blond, attractive if older...mid-thirties, he'd guess. And...

A doctor, obviously, the white coat and stethoscope providing very convincing clues to that effect.

He thought to say something to her, but his mouth was too dry. He grimaced, licking his lips.

"Here," the doctor said, proffering a spoon containing ice chips.

Seifer accepted it gratefully, saying, "thanks."

"Now that you're awake, I get to ask you the obvious question," the doctor began.

Seifer sighed exaggeratedly, "Yes, I'm single, no, I'm not looking, and the rest you'll have to figure out for yourself."

"I already have," the doctor replied dryly, to Seifer's consternation. "But those aren't the questions I mean to ask you."

"It's a good start," Seifer said with a shrug.

"I'd rather start with how do you feel?"

"Much better than I have in a long time." Seifer answered honestly.

"Good to hear. Now, next question: who are you?" the doctor asked.

"You first." Seifer challenged.

The doctor raised an eyebrow, and answered, "I'm Dr. Sheila Ashe, and you're in the clinic I run here in Fisherman's Horizon. I trust this answers at least a couple of the questions I'm sure you have. Now," she leaned forward intently, "you've obviously come from Esthar along with a group of refugees, who say you were a lot of help to them, at least until your injuries got the better of you. Mayor Dobe says the weapon you're carrying is a SeeD weapon, and is keen to pack you off to that bloody great ship that's been docked here for far too long, but he can't seem to get a response from their commander. Are you a SeeD? Is that how you happened to be in Esthar?" The doctor's eyes narrowed at the flash of...fear? That she saw in the young man's murky green eyes.

"No." Seifer answered, swallowing. Shit. They were still here? Of all places that he'd _thought_ would be safe for him to hide out and lie low...

"So? Who are you then? You can't convince me you haven't been a SeeD or at least a cadet at some point, because there aren't that many places where you can learn to use a gunblade. You're not G-Army, nor are you from Esthar. Your accent's wrong. So, shall we start with your name?"

Seifer licked his lips nervously and glanced away. He couldn't give her his real name, not with Garden _right there_. He had to make something up, and his abilities in that area weren't always that great.

"Drake." The moment the name slipped out, he wanted to cringe, an urge made worse by his GF snickering in the back of his mind.

 _"Really?"_

 _Shut up._

"Drake? Drake what?" Dr. Ashe prompted.

"Alexander Drake." Seifer answered. What the hell. He'd always liked the name Alexander.

 _"I will tell him next time I speak with him,"_ Drake said.

 _You talk to Alexander too?_

 _"I did until he was pulled from the Sorceress by the SeeDs."_ Drake answered.

That thought distracted him for a moment, and he almost missed the doctor's next question.

"Where are you from, originally?"

It was a logical question. Standard. She had to know who he was, where he was from, if he had family, how to contact them...who to bill...He supposed he should be glad she wasn't bugging him about insurance. Whether or not Balamb Garden would cover his healthcare related expenses was a moot question. They'd have to conact Garden first and inform them that one Alex Drake was a patient of theirs and could they please receive payment for his care...only to find out that "Alex Drake" didn't exist.

Noticing his hesitation, Dr. Ashe said, "Well, we can come back to that later, if you'd like. Is there anything that you _can_ tell me? I'd kind of like to know if you have any family or friends we could notify for you. Surely, someone's missing you?"

"Not on purpose," he quipped wryly, then added, thinking of Fujin and Raijin with a pang, "No. There's no one."

The doctor snorted slightly in appreciation of his wit, then frowned slightly, "Well, you have a few days still to go to recover. Perhaps you could take that time to figure out what to do next. I know at least a couple of people in that refugee group you were with have offered to take you in if you needed a place. I could give you their contact information if you'd like. They seemed concerned for you."

Seifer frowned at that. Why would they care? He didn't recall doing anything at all significant while they trudged in a ragged group toward FH.

"How long have I been here?" He asked.

"I was wondering when you'd ask that." said. "You've been here, and unconscious, for three days. You were in pretty bad shape, so I had to go with slow Cures instead of hitting you with the higher-level potion right off. You didn't really have enough resources to hand for anything more. You're much improved now, but it goes without saying that you'll need several more days of rest before you're anywhere near recovery."

Seifer grunted in reply, then tracked his gaze around the room. White, clean, antiseptic, with easy to clean tile floors and industrial linens. Too sterile by half, and no windows. Suddenly he wanted nothing so much as to get out of there. Yesterday.

"When can I leave?" He asked.

The doctor folded her arms and answered, "You need at couple more days at least of rest. Let yourself regain enough strength at least to stand. Here," she wrote something on a pad of paper, tore the page off and stuck it under a phone that sat on the squat cabinet next to the bed. A real, honest-to-Hyne _telephone_ , complete with a cord and pushbuttons for the numbers. He wondered if it actually worked, and conceded that it had to or the doctor wouldn't have slipped the page beneath it.

"Give that number a call if you want a place to stay."

"All right. Thanks." Seifer said.

The doctor nodded and stood up, saying, "I'll send a nurse in with some food for you in a little bit."

* * *

 _"They will take me from you, if you go back, won't they?"_ Draken asked.

 _Probably._

 _"Where will you go then, if this place is not safe?"_

 _I don't know. Balamb maybe. If I leave now..._

Rumors had swirled around FH in surges and eddies like the uncertain tides that were a daily hazard. Esthar had fallen. Galbadia was in chaos and on the verge of civil war. Squall, or as he was referred to here, "The Commander", had fallen in battle and was dead. Which of those rumors were true and which were exaggeration was hard to determine.

For some reason not communicated to the average person in FH however, Garden was biding its time here, much to Mayor Dobe's annoyance. The residents of Garden however, were very circumspect, and very few entered FH at a time. So the Mayor couldn't honestly say that they were overunning the place.

Seifer supposed he had to thank his altered appearance that he wasn't immediately recognized by any of them. He hadn't shaved in days, and now had a fairly respectable beard. With a black watch cap pulled down low over his forehead to hide his scar, only someone who knew him intimately would know who he was. He'd also lost a significant amount of weight, which he was assiduously attempting to regain with the help of Mrs. Barron.

She was the matriarch of the small clan of refugees that he'd somehow assisted in getting to FH in one piece. He still was a little foggy on how, but according to her, he'd led them unerringly to it, helping with the hunting and even somehow fighting off the numerous monsters running amok in Esthar.

He found that last bit particularly hard to believe, unless Drake had rendered some discreet aid, or he'd managed to do so out of clear view of everyone. He did vaguely remember refining alot of oddments that he'd picked up along the way, most notably water stones and healing herbs. Perhaps he'd managed to cobble up enough healing potion to regain a little of his strength. Beyond that, all he remembered was an excruciating walk through the desert that he'd thought would never end.

"...of Esthar, Laguna Loire..."

That snippet of a news broadcast caught Seifer's attention and he whipped around, looking for the source.

Willi's Junkshop. It had a display of televisions in the window, all of them on and showing the same thing: the handsome, black-haired president of Esthar. The door to the shop stood open and was the source of that little bit of what appeared to be a press conference. A crowd was beginning to gather, drawn by curiosity and a desire to know, finally, what had happened.

"Willi!" someone shouted, "turn it up, will ya?"

The elderly proprietor obligingly turned up the sound, and the crowd fell silent as President Laguna Loire, at long last, told everyone listening what had happened.

He began with describing current conditions in Esthar, demonstrating without doubt that he was _still_ head of a functioning government, despite the disaster that had struck and the chaos that had followed. Then he provided details about what was being done to deal with the influx of monsters that had resulted from the Lunar Cry, assuring his countrymen-despite the fact that he himself was Galbadian-born- that everything would be brought under control as quickly as possible with the aid of SeeD.

This surprised Seifer. He hadn't thought Loire would resort to hiring SeeD; Esthar's military prowess was legendary. As was its insularity. It made sense though. This was a major event that apparently even Esthar's army was hard-pressed to deal with. Adding SeeDs to the mix could only help.

Obviously, recent events had been the catalyst needed for Esthar to cease hiding behind its privacy screens and rejoin the world.

Seifer watched the broadcast closely, wondering exactly what Loire was going to tell everyone listening about...well, everything else. _Him_ included. He wasn't even sure how much Loire knew of his involvement, so he was intensely aware of his surroundings, and the crowd of FH residents that he stood amongst, as the president continued with his address.

"What we know for certain, was that these events had their origin in Galbadia, but let me hasten to clarify that this was not an act of aggression from the Galbadian government itself. In fact, I've been informed by reliable sources that President Deling is in fact, dead. Rest assured, we will keep a close watch on that situation to see what arises from it, and if they _do_ become a threat, they will be dealt with." At this, President Loire frowned and adjusted the reading glasses he was wearing, before continuing.

"It all began with a sorceress. No, not Sorceress Adel, and really, not Sorceress Edea either, but rather a sorceress from an unknown future, named Ultimecia. Now, this may sound terribly far-fetched and fantastical, but we have verified all the information provided to us as factual. There exists in this time a prototype of a machine, developed by our own Dr. Odine-and I have seen this machine and know it exists-that has the ability to send a person's consciousness into another person's...in the past. In essence, you can view the past through another person's eyes. This machine was developed in an effort to duplicate the abilities demonstrated by a young girl brought here seventeen years ago as a potential candidate for Sorceress Adel's succession."

Despite how dangerous the situation could potentially become for Seifer, he remained where he was, as enthralled as the rest of the throng in the story President Loire was telling them.

"In Ultimecia's time, this machine has been refined and as a result is much more powerful, allowing this sorceress to not only see through another person's eyes, but to use them to affect events in their timeline. According to Dr. Odine, this sorceress was following Hyne's lineage, taking possession of first Sorceress Edea, then a young woman who had received Sorceress Edea's power when she was defeated by SeeD. This young woman was then used by Ultimecia as a vessel to bring her here to Esthar, to release Sorceress Adel with the intention of taking possession of _her_ , and from there to attempt to achieve Time Compression."

Was all this just going to be about the Time Compression and nothing else? If President Loire didn't name him as being complicit in this, he might be able to...what? Go home? Balamb Garden was home. Aside from the now ruined orphanage where he'd spent his early childhood, it had been his _only_ home. And no matter what Loire told the world about what he'd done, the SeeDs would know the truth.

And they did not deal gently with those who betrayed them.

"Time Compression did in fact happen...briefly. Time had in fact stopped, with the past, present and future compressed together into one, timeless, NOW. That was what made it possible for a team of SeeDs to travel forward in time to engage Sorceress Ultimecia in battle and, upon defeating her, return the world and time itself to its previous state...mostly. We still have a lot of work to do to get things back to normal here, but given the fact that SeeD has essentially saved the world, I think they are more than adequate to help us bring this new influx of monsters under control." President Loire said, apparently concluding his address.

Seifer almost breathed a sigh of relief at not having been mentioned, but held off, knowing that there was still a question and answer session from the press afterward.

Sure enough, the question of who had played what role in events and what their ultimate fates were came up, and President Loire answered it, saying, "The SeeD team, which consisted of a contracted sniper, Irvine Kinneas, a young woman named Rinoa Heartilly, SeeDs Quistis Trepe, Zell Dincht and Selphie Tilmitt, and their Commander, Squall Leonhart. As far as we are aware, they have all survived, though Commander Leonhart's condition is unknown. Sorceress Adel was killed in battle by the SeeDs as they sought to prevent Ultimecia from gaining control of her power. Sorceress Edea, who was possessed initially by Ultimecia, and defeated, along with her knight Seifer Almasy, in Deling City. She is no longer a threat though she's is still alive. The fate of her knight however, is unknown at this time. We have neither evidence that he survived, nor that he did not. I will add that Balamb Garden has requested that I place an alert on him. If you see him contact Balamb Garden directly, at this number."

An ID photo, taken earlier that year, just before his SeeD exam in fact, flashed on the screen along with a phone number. Seifer couldn't help snorting to himself. It wasn't his worst picture ever, but it showed clearly his cocky, arrogant attitude. From the sly smirk he wore, to the full-of-himself set to his head and shoulders, and the mischief that sparkled in his jade-green eyes, the photo had caught Seifer at his self-absorbed best. Or worst.

What it did not show was the scar that currenly marred his forehead. Payback from Squall, and he had to admit, well-deserved. Squall had held firmly to the rules of their duel and had not resorted to magic, while Seifer had cheated, and won, scarring Squall for life in the process.

"What a douche," he mumbled to himself, staring at the photograph.

"If you see this young man, do not approach him. While he is not a SeeD, he is SeeD-trained, and is very dangerous as a result. His most notable features are a diagonal scar between his eyes which he recieved shortly after this photograph was taken, and his weapon, which is a custom designed gunblade. Mr. Almasy is relatively tall, standing 1.9 meters in height, and usually weighs around eighty-one kilograms. I have it on good authority that if he is still alive, he's most likely traveling alone." President Loire said, concluding his PSA, and thereby branding Seifer Almasy Public Enemy #1.

 _Or maybe Public ENEMA #1,_ Seifer thought irrepressibly. Hell, he'd stirred up enough shit, hadn't he?

 _"At least you don't suffer from verbal diarrhea."_ Draken observed.

 _No, that would be Zell._ Seifer replied as he started drifting away from the junk store with the rest of the crowd.

He didn't _think_ he was too recognizable, but he went warily nonetheless. No one appeared to pay him any more attention than they would the average guy heading home to lunch. That was in fact, Seifer's destination before he'd paused to watch the newscast. Not _his_ home, but Mrs. Barron's. She had insisted upon putting him up and was far more conscientious about his recovery than _he_ was.

He couldn't decide if her mother-hen routine was something he'd needed since he was a small boy, or was threatening to drive him insane. Either. Or both. Her heart was definitely in the right place though. Despite what she'd told him about his "heroic" assistance in getting her family to FH, he rather doubted he _actually_ deserved her help.

In fact, he was certain that she'd boot his ass to the curb the minute she learned who he _really_ was and what he'd done.

He had to get out of there. Soon.


	4. Chapter 4 Beggars Can't be choosers

"There was finally a news report on," Mrs. Barron said as she served up dinner for her family and Seifer, later that evening.

One of the kids, Joey, had been handing him the bowl of mashed potatoes, and Seifer nearly dropped it at Mrs. Barron's announcement. Numbly, he served himself, wondering how long before they figured out who he was and turned him in. The rest of the dishes were passed to him, and Seifer took a portion of each but didn't bother eating; his stomach had suddenly tied itself into knots as the woman passed along what she'd learned from the news report.

"I saw it. I was walking past Willi's Junk Shop." Seifer said in a flat voice.

"Whole world's gone crazy," she commented, taking a bite of her dinner.

"Hey, Alex, how come you ain't eating?" Bastien, Mrs. Barron's second son, asked.

"Are you feeling okay Alex? I know Dr. Ashe told you not to overdo things while you're recovering, and you were out for a long time earlier." Mrs. Barron said in a concerned voice.

"I'm fine. Just tired." Seifer answered, making a more concerted effort to force his dinner past the lead in his guts.

"I know you needed the air and exercise, but maybe you should go more slowly with that." the woman admonished with a worried frown.

"What did you think of that report, Alex? Do you think that Seifer guy's still alive?" Mrs. Barron's eldest, Rosande, asked. A sweet-faced girl of twelve, she had recovered from her family's harrowing trek across the desert surprisingly well.

"I don't know." Seifer replied with a shrug. "Maybe."

"Did you know him? You're a SeeD, aren't you?" She wondered.

"No. I'm not a SeeD, and they didn't say anything about _him_ being one either. All I know is that Balamb Garden's looking for him." Seifer answered, attention on his dinner.

"Well, at least we have an explanation for all the craziness that went on there." said Mrs. Barron.

"Maybe we can go back home when things have settled down a bit more. President Loire said he was bringing SeeD in to help." Mr. Barron said hopefully.

"Maybe," his wife said.

Seifer frowned fiercely into his dinner, pushing it around but not really eating it. Hopeless, blind fools. After what they'd endured, they actually wanted to go _back_? Intellectually he knew it was because they had a home there and had only fled it when they felt that to stay would mean their deaths. But what use was it to hope?

 _And who's the hopeless fool now? Why do you persist in living when you have no reason to? Useless, washed out, failed knight of mine. You can neither go home nor make a life here in this place. There is nowhere that you will be safe. Your enemies will find you, and I will have you at the last..._

 _Her_ voice whispered in the back of his mind from the dark place where he'd shoved his memories of her. Shoved, and locked down and tried very, very hard not to look into. The nights where the hardest, and he was surprised that the family who, for some inexplicable reason, offered him shelter, had not decided to pitch him out again when he woke screaming in the night.

The first night, Mrs. Barron had taken one look into his eyes and said quietly, "You're safe here." Then she handed him a couple of the pills Dr. Ashe had prescribed for just such occasions.

Seifer still couldn't figure out why she cared. She hadn't said, and he'd never bothered to ask. Her husband was easier to figure out. The man was as honorable as they came, and Seifer had saved his and his family's life. Or so they said.

"Alex? You're awfully quiet tonight, is something wrong?" Mrs. Barron's voice drew him from his reverie, and he shook his head.

"No. I'm just tired. I think I'm going to turn in early tonight." Seifer said, pushing his half-eaten dinner aside.

"Maybe you should take it easy tomorrow," she said.

"Yeah." he replied, pushing back from the table and heading upstairs.

Josh Barron, the family patriarch, had family in FH, which was why they were even here. They were currently in his uncle's house, while man was away at sea. Like all homes in FH, it was a bit of a jumble, but sturdily built for all of that, and large enough to accommodate the entire family, uncle included. The man was a widower with no children, so according to Josh, he had no problems with his nephew's family dropping in unannounced.

 _"You will leave them."_

 _Yes._

 _"When?"_

 _Tonight._

Draken didn't have to ask why, it already knew.

Seifer only had a vague idea of how to get where he needed to go. It had to be by boat, since walking to Balamb from FH was impossible, causeway notwithstanding. He'd passed by the docks on the way home, and had seen a trawler pull in. Hopefully, it was headed for Balamb. If not, he'd chance Galbadia, Dollet or even Trabia, though come to think of it, Dollet might be his best option.

His thoughts kept running along that vein, considering and discarding numerous ideas of how he'd get there, while he was showering and preparing for bed.

Stepping out of the shower, he toweled off his hair, then wrapped the towel around his hips. Grabbing the hand towel, he wiped the condensation from the mirror, and studied his reflection, comparing it to the photo of him that had been broadcast earlier that day.

He was barely recognizable. The only giveaway was the scar. His hair had grown longer and flopped over his forehead, partially obscuring the scar. The watch cap would help with that as well.

The beard did the most to obscure his features, along with his weight loss. It was a light golden brown, surprisingly thick, filling in the hollows of his cheeks and further drawing attention away from his scarred forehead. At nearly two meters in height and several kilos lighter than he should be, he looked more like a scarecrow than a warrior or a knight.

Someone who knew him intimately might recognize him, but there were few people besides Fujin and Raijin who did.

Raking back his wet hair, he pulled on a pair of shorts and a tee shirt for sleeping, then took the rest of his clothes into the guest room he was sleeping in. Once there, he grabbed a spare sea bag he'd been given, and started packing his meager belongings into it, leaving some clothes out that he intended to wear.

Hyperion still rested in its sheath, properly cleaned, oiled and honed, thanks to the Barron family-specifically Mr. Barron- and the cleaning supplies that they'd provided him.

Once all was prepared, he turned off his light and lay down, intending to wait until everyone was asleep before leaving. Stealing out like a thief in the night.

He never was good at good-byes.

* * *

He hadn't slept. He'd instead spent the hours waiting, turning plans and ideas over and over in his head. Was it madness to leave his refuge or madness to stay?

Draken's opinions were firmly on the side of self-preservation, and biding in the shadow of Garden and risking eventual discovery seemed the height of foolishness to the GF. Seifer had to agree with that assessment.

So he waited, and when the house achieved that breathing silence of an occupied dwelling where everyone slept, he judged it safe to leave.

Slipping quietly out of bed, he got dressed, not bothering to turn on the light. He'd gotten dressed in the dark before, many times. He'd chosen his outfit carefully; black, slim-fitting jeans, dark blue t-shirt and a grey hoodie sweatshirt, which should make him difficult to see in darkness. He pulled on the watch cap, and put up the hood of the sweatshirt, tugging it down until he was sure his face was obscured. Then he buckled on his gunblade. That alone could hang him; figuratively at least, if not literally. No one had a gunblade exactly like Hyperion. One look, and anyone at all familiar with gunblades would know it for a custom weapon.

And even if they never saw his face, any cadet in Garden could identify him if they got a good look at it.

Finally he put on his boots..which had survived everything remarkably well. His original overcoat and vest were practically tatters- he still had them in his bag- but he'd been loath to part with them, thinking that he might mend them at some point. When he had the time, and the materials, to do so.

Maybe.

He opened the door to his bedroom; it swung silently on newly-oiled hinges, and stepped cat-footed out into the hallway. Long years of training had given him the ability to move as silently as a ghost, despite his size, and he nearly made it through the kitchen door before a quiet voice stopped him.

"Not one for good byes, are you?"

Seifer froze, hand still gripping the doorknob, cursing silently to himself. Mrs. Barron. She couldn't have heard him, he'd been extremely careful...

Finally, he let out a quiet breath, and answered, "No."

"My oldest son was in the army. Thought he was as quiet as a breath of air. I could still catch him trying to sneak out without waking us. A mother always knows." She said.

They both stood in the dark kitchen, with only the ambient light from the dim streetlights filtering through the window over the sink. He could only see her general shape as a shadow in a pale nightgown and robe. She drifted toward him like a spirit, and he started when he felt her hand touch his face.

"I know your name isn't Alex. And I don't care what it was before. What _you_ were, before. As far as me and mine are concerned, you're a hero." she told him softly.

Seifer swallowed, "No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are." She insisted.

Seifer scoffed, shaking his head slightly. She simply patted his cheek, then took her hand away.

"What happened to your son?" he asked, then kicked himself. He could guess.

Her answer confirmed it, "he was killed in that first wave of monsters. Defending us."

Seifer looked away then, and whispered, "I'm sorry." _More sorry than you know._

Her son had died fighting the monsters that had overrun Esthar in the wake of the Lunar Cry. Which _he_ had triggered at Ultimecia's order. Every death that had resulted from that disaster, and he knew there were thousands, was his fault. He found it astounding that President Loire hadn't started up a manhunt for him, instead deferring to Garden's jurisdiction. Then it occurred to him that perhaps his involvement in the Lunar Cry wasn't as widely known as he thought. Not _yet_ , anyway.

"Be safe...Alex." she said.

Seifer swallowed again, eyes suddenly stinging, and whispered, "Thank you. For everything."

Then he opened the kitchen door and stepped out into the night.

* * *

It was the darkest hour before dawn, when not even the whores were out walking the night. The bars had closed long since; anyone still out at this hour was not someone a normal person would want to run into.

Seifer certainly counted in that category, despite his inability to wield Hyperion as yet. Dr. Ashe had fully cured his injuries and the resultant infection, and Mrs. Barron had done her level best to feed him up so that he could regain his strength. But it had only been a couple of days since he left the clinic, not long enough for Seifer to rebuild muscles wasted by illness and privation. It would take weeks for him to be anywhere close to what he was...before.

Despite this, he was far from defenseless. And he already knew that those who attacked under cover of darkness were generally the meanest sorts of cowards. Walking boldly in the dark like he was the baddest motherfucker on the docks was enough to deter those looking for an easy mark. And openly carrying Hyperion made those intent upon testing him think twice about it. Nobody had to know that he wasn't strong enough to even lift it yet.

Even so, he went warily, keeping to the shadows and staying alert for any threat. There wasn't anyone about, but he wasn't taking any chances.

He took a deep breath of brine, diesel fuel and damp, stalking toward the wharf where the trawler had tied up. Her captain and crew would likely be asleep; either ashore or on board. It didn't matter which, Seifer meant to sail with her regardless, either as a stowaway or as a hand. Preferably as a sailor, since it would be less troublesome to travel openly than being forced to stay hidden and steal food and water when he could.

Either way, he would be aboard when she sailed.

His boots clicked softly, with the soft burbling of water lapping against pilings, the squeak and rustle of vermin scrabbling through rubbish, and stray dockside cats yowling insults at each other as they battled for territory, providing a background accompaniment.

Darkness pressed in on him as he drew closer to the boats, having left the streetlamps behind in the more traveled pathways. Dim security lights illuminated warehouses at long intervals, leaving pools of light around their access doors. _Some_ of them, anyway.

The stench of garbage and rotting fish made him wrinkle his nose. Cannery row. The fish market and seafood processing canneries were located on the farthest end of the dock, as far downwind of the residential areas as it as possible to get with FH's jumbled, circular architecture.

The shadowy hulks of fishing boats tied up along the wharf bumped softly against the bollards; Seifer vaguely remembered hearing someone mention the tide coming in at dawn, which was more than an hour off. Walking slowly down the row of vessels, Seifer counted them under his breath until he came to the one he sought. It was too dark to read the name on the stern, but the boat he was looking for was 5th from the end.

A wooden dock extended out from the concrete quay between the boats, and Seifer stepped down onto it, approaching the ship he'd chosen, looking for the way to get aboard. He thought briefly about the defunct rail line, wishing it were still active, then dismissed the idea with a quiet snort. Even if it was running, he had no gil with which to buy a ticket.

Stepping closer, he finally saw the metal ladder affixed to the side of the boat. The tide hadn't come in fully yet, so the boat was riding low enough on the water that he could reach it easily and climb aboard. Grabbing the rails, he climbed up, gritting his teeth on a grunt of effort as he hauled his duffel along with him by dint of looping the carry straps over his arms and wearing it like a knapsack.

It wasn't a long climb fortunately; the boat wasn't terribly large. If it had been one of the big factory boats, he'd never have made it. As it was, he was panting heavily and trembling when he stepped onto the deck and dropped his duffel- rather audibly- behind him. If there was any sort of security at all to this boat, they'd have heard him. He grimaced as he fought the urge to collapse right alongside his sea-bag.

He'd prefer to work his way on the boat, but knew he'd have a tough time of it, at least to begin with. Still, all he really needed was hard work to get stronger, and working a fishing boat definitely qualified.

 _"What will you do now? Wait?"_

 _Do you see anything ELSE that I can do?_

 _"Sleep?"_

Seifer snorted and shook his head, _No. Not here. I'll wait for someone to show up and offer to work my passage to...wherever they're going._

As tired as he was, he couldn't possibly sleep. Just because he was aboard the boat, it didn't mean he was safe. Unfortunately, that left him entirely too much time to think, and his thoughts, at least lately, were very dark.

With his sudden flight from FH, he was officially a fugitive. He had no gil, and no one that he could turn to or trust. The realization that he was all alone in this was like a sucker punch to the gut. It was unguarded moments like this, alone in the dark, that were the hardest for him. They always had been, which was why he'd hooked up with Fujin and Raijin in the first place. They'd been a constant presence distracting him from his thoughts. His demons.

Even before all this had happened, he had them. Everybody did; why else would they be willing to throw their lives away for gil?

Of course, the demons that had plagued him in the past had been supplanted by the devil incarnate. Dead or not, _she_ still haunted him. He would _never_ be free of her. In his darkest, loneliest, weakest moments, it was _her_ voice he heard, telling him how worthless he was. How pathetic and weak. It was a downward spiral that he had to fight against falling into day after day; the lure of self-destruction warring with his instinct for self-preservation.

It was difficult sometimes to even find a reason for the struggle.

 _Join me then. Come to me my knight..._

 _Shut up bitch!_ He thought in sudden fury. Draken rumbled in the back of his mind, disturbed by the trend his thoughts had taken.

 _"The bond is severed, Master. SHE is gone."_

 _But I still hear her..._

 _"It is your own thoughts, speaking with her voice."_

 _I know. What remains is...the imprint that she left behind in my mind. My own anger and self-loathng attack me with HER voice._

 _"You know this, and yet still fall victim to it..."_

 _Knowing it doesn't make it any easier to deal with it._

 _"You carry too much inner pain."_

 _Nothing I can do about it._

Draken subsided at this, but Seifer could still feel its concern. The fact was, there was nothing that _Draken_ could do about it either. Emotions, or rather their energy, were what sustained it. Seifer rather doubted that Draken could or would help him to resolve those emotions.

Then Draken commented wistfully, _"I enjoy better the taste of your joy. It was much sweeter. There is too much that is dark, and bitter, spiced with pain, within you now. Will you ever find joy again?"_

 _I don't know, Drake._

* * *

Dawn was staining the horizon when Seifer heard voices, along with footsteps clomping along the wooden wharf next to the boat.

Blinking his burning eyes, he fixed them on the access ladder he'd used to board, waiting. He hadn't slept, despite his fatigue. His active mind and waiting nightmares had kept him wakeful.

For a moment, he thought perhaps the men were headed for the other boat, then he heard them climbing up the ladder on the side of the boat. The first thing he saw was a dark colored, knitted watch cap. The rest of the man emerged and was revealed to be wearing a yellow slicker, olive green colored overalls and what looked like black galoshes. His companion was similarly dressed; obviously, that was standard attire for a sailor on a fishing boat.

It took them longer to see him than Seifer thought it would, but then again, he was darkly dressed and in shadow still.

He did derive some grim amusement at the start of surprise and audible gasp that resulted when the first man finally noticed his presence.

"What the..? Who are you? What are you doing here?" the man demanded.

Extending both his hands to show that he wasn't armed, Seifer said with a slight smirk, "I need a ride...anywhere. I'm willing to work for my passage."

The second man came up to stand shoulder to shoulder to the first sailor, saying, "You don't look like a sailor."

"No, he looks more like an assassin." the first man said, squinting in the uncertain light to get a better look at him.

"I'm neither." Seifer assured them. "But I'm willing to work. And I'm a fast learner."

The two men exchanged at glance, and the first one stepped forward and extended a hand, saying, "Well, we could always use another sailor. I'm Captain Ricard Monro. Welcome aboard..."

Taking the captain's hand, Seifer shook it. "Alex Drake."

The captain studied the young man as the lightening sky revealed more details. Lean, bordering on thin, with a thick, dark blond beard that obscured most of his face and made his age difficult to guess at a casual glance. Eyes of a shade that couldn't be determined by the still dim, diffuse light of early dawn. Dark circles beneath those eyes and an air of weariness that he couldn't hide. A strong grip and a callused hand; the man knew hard work, even if it wasn't on a boat.

Finally he indicated the man standing next to him, "First mate Evan Styles. He'll see you settled in the crew quarters below deck." The man in question nodded, giving him a similarly assessing look, but didn't move to shake Seifer's hand. Seifer didn't care.

"Okay." Standing up, he picked up his duffel, careful to hold it against the side he wore Hyperion on. With any luck, they wouldn't notice the gunblade.

As he turned to follow the mate, the captain called out, "Where you bound for, Mr. Drake?"

"Doesn't matter," Seifer answered dully.

"Well, we're headed for the Trabian Sea and the blue lobster run. We usually put in at Balamb for resupply before we head north. We'll be trawling along the way. That do you?" the captain asked him.

Seifer nodded, "Yeah, that's fine."

"Good. Come see me once Evan's got you situated and we'll take care of the formalities." The captain said,

"All right," Seifer acknowledged, and followed the first mate below to stow his gear and get the grand tour of the boat.

By the time he was done, he was set up in his berth, which he would be sharing with three other men. He had been assigned a footlocker (minus a lock, which had Seifer concerned about theft), been shown the galley, the engine room, the bilges and the heads...and the brig, which was actually just a supply closet that locked from the outside.

While they toured the boat, the mate had quizzed him about his skillsets, and if he was dismayed at Seifer's bald admission of being a landlubber, he gave no sign. He knew basic knots, which appeared to mollify the man, as did his knowledge of diesel engine care and maintenance.

"Where you from, anyway Alex?" the mate asked conversationally, in a thick North Trabian accent.

"Balamb." Seifer answered. No sense in lying about that. He hadn't paid much attention in his dialect classes, so hadn't been as successful in erasing his accent as Squall and the others had been. It was still detectable, enough so for him to not even try to give any other answer than that.

"You got family there?" The man asked him.

"Not anymore," Seifer answered flatly. The mate gave him a questioning look but Seifer declined to elaborate. The man turned away with a slight grunt, and led him past the galley to the captain's office. He knocked once and poked his head in when he received an indistinct response.

"Here ya go. Cap'n, you can formalize things with Mr. Drake here. I'll be up top; rest of the crew's coming in." the mate said.

"Good. Drake, come on in." the captain invited.

This visit mostly involved paperwork, and at the end of it (and despite Seifer's lack of actual documentation, which he thought both odd and lucky) Seifer, or rather Alexander Drake, was signed on as an official member of the crew of the Daisy May...if only temporarily. It was understood that Seifer would work the voyage from FH to Balamb, receive the pay he was entitled to there, and go on his way.

He hoped, anyway.

By the time the sun had finally peeked above the horizon, the crew had all boarded and the Daisy May was pulling out of port, headed for Balamb, with Seifer aboard.


End file.
